


petalboy

by weefaol



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anal Sex, Bottom Jensen, Dark, Dubious Consent, Falling In Love, Hand Jobs, Hypersexuality, M/M, Mental Instability, Mental Institutions, Romance, Rough Sex, Top Jared, Violence, more tags in notes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-08
Updated: 2018-05-08
Packaged: 2019-05-03 19:45:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14576289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weefaol/pseuds/weefaol
Summary: Jared is unhinged. Deranged in the brain. But he’s Danvers Lunatic Asylum’s best behaved inpatient, two years running.That is until Jensen starts ghosting around the halls.





	petalboy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [homo_pink](https://archiveofourown.org/users/homo_pink/gifts).



> for the lovely [homo_pink](https://archiveofourown.org/users/homo_pink/profile), who whetted my appetite for long-limbed loonyboys <333 inside petalboy, i've planted seedlings of my favourites — [dead tidy](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2355101) and [excitable boy](https://archiveofourown.org/works/680255) — knowing they could never bloom as beautiful as yours do. (your stories mean the world to me, honestly.)
> 
> the danvers state hospital was in operation from 1878 to 1992. located in danvers, massachusetts (and overlooking salem village, home to the infamous salem witch trials), the lunatic asylum is lovingly known as the birthplace of the lobotomy.
> 
> petalboy features soft!jensen and psycho!jared, circa turn of the century. warnings for disturbing content include violence, rough sex, dubcon, and more! other tags: come eating, pregnancy kink, masturbation, praise kink, feminization, pretty flowers, ghosts.

Jared’s always been a little insane. 

He’s got crazy hair, wild and sticking out in every direction; wacko limbs, long and limber, good for wrapping around pretty things and strangling the life out of them. His specialty is moral insanity — the rear-naked choke. He’s perfected it over the years on unsuspecting passers-by; on friendly neighbours and too-trusting companions. Pretend friends.

There’s no doubt about it. Jared is unhinged. Deranged in the brain.

But he’s Danvers Lunatic Asylum’s best behaved inpatient, two years running.

That is until Jensen starts ghosting around the halls.

~~~

_Dissocial personality disorder with criminal traits, moral deficiency, and sexual perversions._

That’s what the alienists call him. The doctors assume he’s an inborn delinquent. The nurses say he’s mean.

Jared prefers harum-scarum.

Years ago, before anybody knew better, one of the doctors tried to cure Jared. Tied him down, stripped him bare, and touched his hidden places till they _hurt_. Poor doctor didn’t how strong Jared could get when he was angry, for once the straps had been unbuckled, the doctor’d nearly gotten himself suffocated before a nurse jabbed Jared with a sleep-syringe. And the next day, when the doctor returned wearing a neck collar and a blue-bruised windpipe, Jared flexed his fingers and replayed the pretty bone-crunch sounds in his head. 

Another notch on his leather restraints.

That’s when they decided to send Jared to the cage. That he was _dangerous_.

It’s a bad memory. When they’d kept him locked down for too long, incarcerated in the corridor with the other caged loonys and forced to watch the brainless wanderers drool all over the floor. It was the worst at night, when there was no place to stretch out six-foot-four sized limbs. He’d had to scrunch up in a little ball to get any rest, or balance himself against the two bars in the corner, watching the orderlies pace the halls, listening to the grunters and mutterers and _screamers_ in the night. The screamers were the _worst_ , with their high-pitched caterwauls and always something stupid — _MY BED IS ITCHY. I SMELL CUNNY. THERE’S BUGS IN MY BRAIN._

Jared will never forget his time in the cage. How it seemed a strange test of survival for everyone at Danvers, one they’d had to pass to stay insane. Jared’s seen a lot of cages occupied and emptied over the years.

Now he’s got his own room, with his own bed and his own wash basin. He’s kept quiet with daily barbiturate injections, but his favourite time is somewhere past midnight, when the medicine’s the most worn off and Jared feels impulsive and disinhibited — when he’s the most _himself_.

After all, himself is all Jared’s ever cared about. At least until now.

~~~

Jensen arrives on a warm spring day when Jared’s nose is tickling from the pollen perfume that wafts in between window bars. He first catches a glimpse when Jensen shuffles past his open door, glancing warily around the hallway. He’s skittish, almost, or just adjusting to the madhouse. Perhaps he’s one of those nervous cases, or melancholic.

As Jared observes, hour by hour, day by day, it strikes him how different Jensen is from the rest. That he seems almost… out of place. Otherworldly. Idiosyncratic. He certainly doesn’t blubber and moan like all the other spastics. Jared can almost respect somebody like that.

No one ever introduces Jared to the new kid, or acts like he would give a damn (because why would he?), so Jared’s nonplussed when Jensen wanders up to his bedroom door one afternoon — an asylum-issued blanket and pillow tucked under his arm — looking soft and shy with cheekbones like a girl. Lovely lady-lips, up close and personality disordered.

Not that Jared cares about that sort of thing. Never has before, anyway.

“Don’t talk to me. I’m _dangerous_ ,” spits Jared, slicing through the last word. It’s his go-to line. Usually keeps the crazies at bay.

Jensen ducks his head, shy. “You’re Jared, right?”

When Jared doesn’t answer, Jensen steps carefully over the threshold.

“I saw you in the garden yesterday,” he continues, quiet and curious. “Do you like flowers?”

“No,” says Jared, scrunching his nose because it’s such a stupid question. Because who could possibly care about silly little coloured plants that crush so easily? When Jensen’s cheek turn pink in embarrassment, Jared puts on his mask — the one that’s hoodwinked so many trustworthy fools in the past. He shrugs, “But I don’t like a lot of things…”

Jensen brightens at this, turns those lively green eyes and butterfly lashes on him, the sweet hint of a smile at his lips. “You like dead things though.”

Jared blinks, curiosity striking him for the first time he can remember. Whispers, soft. “Yes, I like dead things.”

There’s a mutual understanding that passes between them and, after a moment, Jared turns his head to look out the window, bored already.

“There’s only one bed and it’s mine,” he says, cutting to the chase. He’s not interested in roommates. “You can share with me.”

“Okay,” says Jensen, in that shy voice.

Jared can hear him pitter-patter across the room, followed by the bedsheets rustling. He sneaks a peek while Jensen’s busy arranging his pillow and blanket at the end of the bed, carving out just enough space at Jared’s feet.

He’s so soft-looking, Jared thinks. He wonders if he’ll feel like the warm pillows Jared fucks into at night. At any rate, Jensen’s got a few squishy bits he’s keen to dig his fingers into — arms, belly, bum-cheeks. Good squeezes. Nothing like the others he’s squeezed the life out of. Not yet, at least.

No, Jensen seems _pliable_. Bendy. Easy to manipulate.

And Jared’s already a little bit haunted by him.

~~~

Jared gets used to his bashful bedmate.

It’s not like he has a choice. Single rooms are like gold dust, as scarce as hen’s teeth. The only reason Jared’s avoided being shacked up like sardines for so long is that people are afraid of him; think he can’t be trusted, that he’s never gonna get better.

They’re probably right.

At first, he makes Jensen sleep at the foot of the bed, curled up like a puppy-dog. But he’s surprised at how quickly he gets used to the sleepy exhales at 3AM, the little night murmurs that tickle Jared’s toes. He starts to let him use his wash basin in the morning, when Jensen’s all dewy-eyed and delicate. Tolerates him as he comes and goes, slips quietly here and there, silent and swift as a spectre.

Jensen knows his way around Danvers like the back of his ashen hand. Claims there are creepy little underground tunnels decorated with decades-old cobwebs and skeleton bones. That he uses passageways to flutter around to different parts of the hospital — that he watched the doctors give Old Freddie Morton an icepick lobotomy the other day, then send him out back to the cemetery of the dead insane. 

Jared grins at all the stupid little stories. Jensen’s so full of shit.

But that doesn’t change the fact that the orderlies let Jensen roam the halls whenever he likes. They never stop him, never touch him, never pull his teeth out or fasten leather straps on him so tight his skin grows over.

Jared figures Jensen is their new _favourite_. The fresh-faced kooky kid on the block who keeps to himself and doesn’t cause any trouble. The one who’s got sights on Jared’s good record — his gold star.

He can’t exactly blame them for it.

Jensen is quickly becoming Jared’s favourite too.

~~~

Jared likes to watch the witch hangings.

His bedroom window affords the best view of Salem Village — the wooden gallows and their unruly gatherers. He’s never missed one. Whenever he hears the faraway bellows and clatter of pitchforks, he runs to the windowsill, sits and stares until he sees the arousing snap of neck, the stiff-shimmy of the body, and the hypnotic swing of limp limbs. And after it’s over, he sticks a hand down his pants and rubs at his ridges till he leaks pearl-white. He likes the way he tastes.

“Try me,” he says to Jensen one day after a particularly ugly witch bites the dust. Touches a finger to the slippery tip and raises it to Jensen’s lips. “I’m delicious.”

Jensen sticks his puppy-tongue out to lap at the cream drips, cautious and careful. Jared rolls his eyes. He’s never had patience for these types of shenanigans, so he shoves his finger inside Jensen’s mouth, rubs his spunk all over clean pink tongue. Jensen nearly gags at first, but then starts to suckle happily, licking Jared’s finger clean.

“Warm bleach,” says Jensen, once Jared removes his finger. He’s already tugging his own pants down, letting his pretty dick hang out. “Want to try me?”

“No,” says Jared, bored. He returns his gaze to the gallows, to the distant Salem Village. “I’m busy.”

Jensen pulls his pants back up. “Okay.” He moves to leave the room as quietly as he’d come.

“Don’t leave,” says Jared, his cool voice sounding warmer every day. “I like you here.”

“Okay,” says Jensen, turning and returning to his side. He joins Jared on the sill and lays his head on his shoulder. 

They gaze out the window and watch the witches together.

~~~

Jared sees ghosts at night.

They float around the room in their eerie translucence, drifting through walls, doors, windows. Whenever Jared gets a bone-chill, he knows a ghost is trying to get inside, trying to feel something. They’re broken spirits from backyard mass graves, where the half-dead insane get dumped and dirt-covered to make room in hospital halls. They die — their bruised bodies askance and their scarred limbs entwined — and they rise.

The way Jensen floats is on two feet — light as a feather, stiff as a board. Especially when Jared’s got his hands wrapped around him in twin-beds at night, side-by-side, cuddled close like dead friends. And when Jared rubs at him just right, Jensen oozes ectoplasm.

Jared’s sheets are getting stiff.

~~~

“Wake up.”

It’s somewhere past pitch dark and dead of night (there are no clocks in cuckoo’s nests) when Jared digs trigger fingers into bony shoulder blades.

“Wake up,” Jared nudges, giving his sleeping beauty a shake and a shimmy. Presses his swollen junk against Jensen’s backside and ear-hisses, “I wanna fuck.”

Jensen stirs, humming a sleepy ‘ _hmm?’_ before nuzzling his nose into the pillow. He moves slower, more careful, than Jared on a normal day, let alone when Jared’s got a raging need to get his dick wet.

Huffing with hysteria, Jared yanks down the back of Jensen’s stretch pants, exposing his chubby-bum. It smells like earth and primrose. 

It’s driving Jared crazy. Even crazier than usual.

“I. Want. To. Fuck.” he reiterates, spitting into his palm and rough-rubbing it over his own dick. He grabs Jensen around the middle and pulls him close, slides his dick around his secret-place, the one they aren’t supposed to touch.

Jensen wakes with a start, gasping prettily at the brusque shift — at arousal caught unawares and pushy submission. He clutches at Jared’s hand, held firm to his belly, but doesn’t pull away; probably couldn’t if he tried. Instead, he just holds his own on top of it, lining up their fingers to make ten. Turns his head to meet Jared’s and hushes delicate permission, “Don’t hurt me.”

Jared nods, “Okay,” and pushes in, sliding past the spongey ring and into unhinged bliss. 

_Ohh, goddd._

The hot silk-slick of someone’s — _Jensen’s_ — insides makes Jared go gaga. He gets all hog-wild and hot-wired, like his screws are coming looser. There are sparks flying in his head and gibberish falling from his tongue as he fucks in, deeper and faster and _harder_ , and _oh poor Jensen…_ Because once Jared goes batshit like this, there’s no stopping him, not until he _says so_. 

But he’s not sorry, not one bit.

“Don’t hurt me,” Jensen reminds, soft and pretty, through breathless puffs that match Jared’s thrusts.

“I won’t,” he whispers, fucking into him like a breedy animal. He isn’t hurting, he swears. If he were, Jensen wouldn’t be making any noise at all. 

Jared’s hurt people before.

Besides, Jensen is whimpering and moaning and _sighing_ like a girl. And Jared thinks he sounds so lovely like this — grunts and groans mixed in with bodily obscenities; slicky-slides and slaps of flesh. So he buries himself inside, carving out a space to call his own. It’s nothing like the pillows or his hand, which don’t give him any sort of response, don’t put up any sort of _fight_. He pulls Jensen tighter and hums into his ear. Little love sounds, little made-up words Jared’s been inventing — muddles, misfits, and moans.

“ _Jared…_ ” whines Jensen in half-hearted protest. He’s aching and sore already, his body going limp in Jared’s hands. Gets slicker on the inside. “ _O-ohhhh_.”

“You _like_ it?” says Jared, almost meanly. It’s a dare, a threat. He reaches down and grabs Jensen’s dick, hard and leaking. Squeezes it in an iron grip till Jensen yelps and ricochets. He pummels his perfect love coffin so hard that even _Jared’s_ suffering now, fuckstick rubbed raw. 

And then he _comes_ , white and weary, inside that perfect fissure, coating Jensen’s insides until they’re too slippery to feel good anymore. He pulls out, head spinning and herky-jerky with murder thoughts. Rubs his hand on his wet-white cock and smears salt-stains all over Jensen’s face.

“Taste me,” he groans, thumbing pre-babies along pulpy lips.

Jensen cringes, bruised and used up. But he slides his tongue along his lips, suckles Jared’s juices inside. Chews over it and swallows. “Tastes like ass.”

“Duh,” Jared grins, pulling Jensen’s pants back up and wrapping his strangle-arms around him. Holds him close and warm. “Now go back to sleep, silly.”

They drift off together, bodies buzzing with perverted penetration.

~~~

Jensen can’t sit down all day.

He stands to eat his kitchen mash, shuffles funny while waiting in the pill line, hobble-walks out to the greenhouse like his ankles are shackled. He returns with a smile, wearing jasmine perfume and perching at Jared’s shoulder.

It bugs Jared at first, the boy hovering around like a nosy neighbour, but then he gets used to it; kind of likes how Jensen kills time at his side, keeping Jared at cock-level so he can smell between his thighs. 

Maybe he’ll make Jensen stand like this all the time.

Maybe he won’t ever let him leave. 

Maybe he _needs_ him or something.

Jared’s never needed anything but blood on his hands and cadavers in his heart.

~~~

The next night, at a quarter-past when meds wear off, Jared nudges forward and presses finger-bruises into Jensen’s shoulders.

“Wake up,” he hums, like cuckoo clockwork. “I wanna fuck.”

This time, Jensen’s ears are attuned. He deep-breathes and flutters his sleep-eyes open. But to Jared’s surprise, he doesn’t submit — he flips himself over so they’re nose to nose, dick to dick. Blinks those pretty greens and hums dreamily, “Let’s just kiss instead.”

Jared blinks. He’s not sure how to take it. “Kiss?”

“Yeah,” hums Jensen, snuggling close and nuzzling their noses together. “Nice kisses.”

Jared’s belly lurches with love-tugs. He’s never felt anything quite like it.

“Maybe it’ll be boring,” Jared worries, chewing at his lip. “Maybe I won’t like you anymore…”

Jared freezes stiff when Jensen smiles and leans in, pressing his petal lips to Jared’s trembly ones. Catches his heart like a critter-trap. The kiss is warm, a little wet, and sort of weirdly pleasant. It’s his first one on the lips and he’s not quite sure _what_ to think about that.

Jensen pauses, pulls back, his eyes sparkly and searching the lines of worry on Jared’s face before leaning in again. This time, when he touches lips, he’s more purposeful. He urges and coerces and opens Jared up, slipping his tongue inside, sliding it against Jared’s own like a promise, pressing deeper and delirious. 

It’s sweet and it’s sugary and Jared thinks he maybe likes it a lot more than he should, because his heart’s all melty and his stomach’s flipping and his brain’s talking plain English for once. It whispers,

_This… This is what love must feel like._

~~~

Twice a month, Jared gets to go outside. It happens Saturday mornings and supervised, an orderly at each arm and shackles on each ankle because everyone knows Jared’s a runner. No way you can have gangle-legs like his and not be a runner.

“Can Jensen come outside with me?” he says one Saturday, pressing his luck for the fifty-millionth time. They’ve never let the two of them out together. Jensen's not under lock and key like him. But Jared’s getting better at asking nicely.

“Alright,” says a nurse, the sweet one, the one who's never poked his insides with needles or filled his skull with electricity. She pats his arm twice. “Your friend can come with us today.”

Jared alights like a firecracker, summoning what he imagines gratefulness must look like. He turns to Jensen, who’s hiding around the corner. “You hear that? She says you can come too.”

Jensen blinks, unsure at first, but then follows along at Jared’s heels, across the cement back-slab and onto the dewy grounds that stretch on like Pemberley. Jensen’s feathery presence feels so nice and warm there. Even warmer than Saturday morning sun.

They walk along the grounds, brushing barefeet over grassy knolls — grown-over grave mounds and makeshift flower plots. Jared can hear the dead people underground, so he stomps down to say hello. He doesn’t miss them one bit, but he pretends to for Jensen's sake. Really, he’s trying to rattle their bones.

Halfway through the stroll, the nurses take a cigarette break and leave Jared and Jensen to wander around inside the greenhouse. Jared observes carefully, studying as Jensen picks out his favourite flowers. Peonies and begonias. Azaleas and camellias. Pretty little petal-pushers.

“If I could pick one without killing it,” says Jensen, quiet and petting at a lilac dahlia with purple peppering the iris, “I’d pick this one for you.”

Jared’s broken heart flutters. Arrhythmia. And he suddenly lusts after lilac dahlias like he never has with flower girls. “Why do you care if it dies?”

“Because it’s beautiful,” he says, gazing lovingly at its petals. “You shouldn’t kill beautiful things.”

Jared’s killed plenty. None as beautiful as Jensen flirting with flowers in greenhouses though. 

When he gets out of here, Jared’s going to plant a entire graveyard garden for Jensen to dote upon.

~~~

Jared’s got his hands on some of Loony Lonny’s moonshine. It wasn’t easy. He’d had to lay down and let Ol’ Lonny pet his hair for twenty-three minutes, listen to the hot breath from his toothless, brown-rot smile, before he walked away with a sippy cup of the hard stuff.

The doctors are doing castrations tonight. Jared can hear the screams echo up from the operating room and it makes his stomach roil. He sips at the moonshine in his moonlit window, cupping softly at his gonads, just to make sure they’re still there. Jared figures he’ll kill himself if they ever take his.

A few minutes after ghastly screams turn to haunting wails, a scared-looking Jensen appears at his side. He’s warm to the touch and curls up tight.

“Make it stop,” he whispers against Jared’s skin. He’s trembling.

“There, there,” says Jared, playing the caretaker. He’s learned how to do it from one of the good nurses, but never put it into practice until now. He puts his giant arms around Jensen’s frame, pets his croppy hair and hugs him close. Offers him the cup of moonshine. “Take a sip of this. It’ll help.”

Jensen blinks up at him, his milky skin luminous in the moonlight. He cradles the cup in two hands and takes sips, his freckle-specked nose wrinkling with each one.

Observing the niceties, Jared reaches a hand down and feels around between Jensen’s legs until he finds the soft stones. Cups them in his hand and tugs gently, making Jensen exhale a breathy little _hmmpf_.

“See?” Jared grins, tugging again to make pretty-boy’s eyes flutter. “You’ve still got yours.”

Jensen smiles and blushes rose-pink at the way Jared’s got him so pinned down, under his thumb. He plants a soft kiss at Jared’s cheek and —

_Wha… what is that?_

Something funny is happening inside Jared. He feels all _fuzzy_. Like he wants to keep playing, like he actually cares. It exhilarates him, but not in the way that he’s used to — blood-pounding, muscles twitching, ice in his veins and fire in his belly. _Crunch, twist, tear._

No. This is different.

This is snug and stomach-settled. Gentle and premeditated. Soft strokes, tender skin touches. His blood _sings_.

“Petalboy…” says Jared, sickly-sweet. He thumbs at the base of Jensen’s shaft, ridges hard in cotton trousers. Works his hand up to the tip. “Do you like this?”

He’s never asked before, no less waited for an answer.

“Yes,” breathes Jensen, buried warm against Jared’s neck. “I like everything you do to me.”

Jared’s belly flips, hearing the arousal, the _eros_ , hanging on Jensen’s tongue. He rubs at the cotton fabric, then dips inside the waistband and holds Jensen’s pretty pink dick in his hand. Spreads the spiderweb of pre-slick around the head, watching it glisten.

“How long do you need?” he whispers, like it’s some sort of love poem. To Jared, it is rote.

“Not long,” Jensen hushes, teeth and pouty lips dragging along Jared’s jaw and _up, up, up_ till their lips press together in beautifully wedded bliss.

And Jared sinks into such hot psychosis he nearly melts.

Because Jensen, sweet Jensen, is making his mouth tremor with little _hmms_ and _mmms_ and _uhh_ -noises as Jared fist-fucks his prickhead, soft and resolute. He’s never made anyone sound like this before. Like they _want_ it.

“ _Jared_ ,” whispers Jensen, brokenly, against his lips. “Can I?”

His heart beats quick, more frenzied than his wrist. “I want to see it.”

Jensen pulls away and buries his head back in Jared’s neck, teeth scraping and whimpering like that puppy Jared played too rough with once. Gives him a perfect view of peach-pink cock, drooling at the tip.

“Okay, baby,” says Jared, eyes fierce and fixated on the little hole in the head, the one his thumb keeps brushing over. “You can let it go now.”

He watches, rapt, as creamy spurts colour the pink head white. Jared’s insides get tingly as Jensen quivers and floods all over him. The air smells like embryos.

They can’t hear the screams anymore.

~~~

Ullmer Jørgensen arrives on a Wednesday. The doctors drag a squeaky box spring into Jared’s room and push an enormous Norseman in behind it. With effort, they shove the man down till he’s seated on the bed, looking deranged and dope-drugged. He’s got an ugly lobotomy scar on his forehead. Best cure for Viper’s dance.

“Jared, this is Ullmer. Your new roommate.”

Jared jumps up, forearms flexing with fury. “I don’t want another roommate.”

“That’s not your choice,” says a doctor, carefully moving towards the door. They know it’s dangerous to let Jared get between them and the nearest exit. “There’s no more space. We’re overcrowded.”

Jared grits his teeth so hard his brain hurts. Anger rips through him like venom. Miraculously, he keeps it in check. Swallows it, unclenches his fists and relaxes — feigns a smile that has the alienist recoiling in fear. Sings a syrupy, “Yes, I understand. Thank you, doctor.”

The white-coats leave the room and bolt the door, locking the two of them inside so they can get used to each other. Yeah, right. Like Jared’s got room in his ribcage for someone else. He turns to Ullmer, who’s big enough to kill a bigger man than Jared, puts a finger in his face and shoots daggers:

“Touch me and _die_.”

That evening, Jared can’t even pretend to sleep. He’s waiting for Jensen to come home from the garden, wondering how he’s going to explain all of this. That they won’t be alone anymore.

Meanwhile, Ullmer sits on the bed against the wall, watching Jared with a stupid look on his face.

“Braindead moron,” mutters Jared. He tosses and turns on the bed, lying in wait until he hears the prettiest sound in the world — the tinkling windchime of petalboy.

“…Jared?”

He turns to the door. Sweet, sweet Jensen has already let himself in. But he’s paused on the threshold, glancing warily at the newcomer.

“Sweetheart,” says Jared, twisting on his forearms to sit up. His eyes turn soft when he sees Jensen, all clean and crystalline in his white T-shirt and cotton pants. He pulls the sheet back and pats the bed beside him. “Come here.”

Jensen takes a shy step forward, his eyes shifting between Jared and the giant. He pauses, taking note of the way Ullmer seems to stare at him with ravishment.

“He won’t hurt you,” says Jared. He turns and death-glowers at Ullmer, who can’t stop fixating. “He knows what I’ll do if he tries anything.”

Jensen hides his eyes before tiptoeing across the room and tucking himself under the sheet. Melts into Jared’s lanky frame as two loving limbs wrap around his waist, squeezing him close like a boa constrictor, like two spoons rusted together. 

After fixing one last glare at Ullmer — who’s practically salivating over how soft, how _warm_ Jensen looks — Jared turns his attention to his gardenboy; plants little kisses at the back of his ear, squeezes him hard enough to make Jensen’s chest wheeze and finds the soft bulge between his legs. “You miss me?”

“Yes,” Jensen coos. “I picked out four more flowers for you in the greenhouse.”

Jared purrs, rubbing at Jensen’s dangly-bits till they get hard. Gets sing-songy and saccharine, “That’s wonderful, darling. I can’t wait to see them.” He pulls slow at the back of Jensen’s pants, slides them down around his milk-white thighs. Trails his fingertips down blushing bum-cheeks.

Jensen sighs in romantic anticipation. He melts under the weight of Jared’s words, the ones that seem to get prettier and prettier every day. Gives a little whimper-mewl when Jared pushes a finger in, milking at his fleshy insides like he’s coaxing the love out.

Even Jared knows he’s getting better at this — at feigning interest. Jensen makes it easy. Those goo-goo eyes and pliant body make Jared go weak at the knees. Sometimes he nearly falls over from unexpected belly tugs and brain magnets, pulling him toward his ashen companion. 

Jared’s never felt so off-balance.

“You ready for me, baby?” he huffs in Jensen’s ear, kissing at ambrosial neck. His fingers are coated in delicious slick and Jared’s keen to get his whore-stick up there.

“Yes, please,” breathes Jensen. “Put it inside me.”

Jared’s heart quivers at that. So instead of ramming in like he always does, he flips Jensen onto his back and hovers over him, catching the back of his knees in his hands and bending those beautiful bowlegs till they’re balanced on his shoulders. Jensen’s gazing up at him, eyes blown wide and lust-filled. 

They’ve never done it like this before. Like real lovers.

“So pretty,” hums Jared against Jensen’s lips, kissing him sweetly as he lines himself up and pushes inside, moaning into Jensen’s mouth at that first succulent slide in — so tight, so wet, so warm, he could _die_.

He doesn’t even try to go slow. His brain always haywires when his dick’s involved, so he just bucks in and out, feeling Jensen’s lovely feet flopping against his backbones. The bed squeaks and groans like it’s about to collapse, what with Jared plowing Jensen so deep into the mattress, making him all high-pitched and moany. 

“Is he watching?” hums Jensen, his cheeks flushing pink as he jiggles and squirms under Jared’s thrusts.

Jared looks up and across the room to where Ullmer is sitting, watching them with spittle on his chin. _Pervert_.

“Yeah, he’s watching,” says Jared, turning his gaze back to Jensen, who’s blushing like a whore. Jared kisses his cheek and whispers soft, “He’s gonna see us make a baby.”

Jensen whimpers at that, dissolving under the gorgeous promise. He hugs Jared closer, wrapping him up like he’ll never let go, urging Jared to fuck _deeper_ as he crosses his ankles, runs his fingers through his hair.

Everything’s so perfect-feeling that Jared’s brain comes dangerously close to short-circuiting. He falls back into old habits, clasping two hands around Jensen’s throat, tightening his fingers and knuckle-massaging the knots on his windpipe. A shot of familiar adrenaline rockets from his brain to his cock, and his hands tighten just as his eyes go black.

_Don’t hurt me. Don’t hurt me._

A little ghost voice is like a bug in his ear, buzzing and snapping him out of whatever slaughter-stupor he’s worked himself into. Sounds like petalboy.

 _You shouldn’t kill beautiful things_.

Jared shakes his brain to reset it and then loosens his death grip, wrenching his fingers from Jensen’s red-burned throat and grabbing onto his hands for dear life.

No way in hell he’s gonna kill the only thing he ever loved.

“Hold on tight,” he says in half-apology, pinning Jensen’s hands to the mattress. He feels Jensen’s fingers tighten, fusing their grips together, and breathes a sigh of relief that he’s stopped himself mid-murder.

His dick’s as hard as ever. And his gonads need emptying.

“Jensen, I’m gonna come,” he grunts, knowing it’s gonna be a big load. Gets all tingly and romantic when he thinks of Jensen’s belly all pregnant with Jared-babies.

“Kiss me while you do,” hushes Jensen, clambering to get closer.

Their mouths meet and it’s ephemeral bliss — Jared emptying into Jensen in cream-white bursts, nearly crushing his fingerbones from losing control of everything… his senses, his mouth, his mind. They collapse into each other like two drifter souls, shaking and shuddering, hearts shattered.

And Jared knows, there’s no stopping the two of them now.

Spastic psychopaths, absolved of moral faculties.

Brainsick and eternal. Together.

~~~

Jared falls near-asleep from taking turns rubbing at Jensen’s belly and then his boycunt, the puckery fucked-out hole that’s been leaking semen all night. He does his best to push the seed back in, listening while Jensen breathes happy little sleep-sighs.

He manages to rest his eyes for a few hours before his ears prickle with an urgent plea:

“ _J-Jared_.”

His eyes snap open and he nearly flinches. Because kneeling at their bed is motherfucking Ullmer Jørgensen, crowded up against a petrified Jensen, trying to touch him, trying to grab and feel and _take_.

Jared knew Ullmer wouldn’t last long anyway.

He clutches Jensen and pushes him to the end of the bed — away from Ullmer’s dumb, grubby hands — then sits up and delivers a swift knuckle-punch to the Norseman’s nose.

The giant recoils, clutching at his mashed-up snout, and backs away from the bed, but it’s too late — Jared’s already ripped off a jagged piece of box spring from under the mattress. He advances on Ullmer, metal shiv in his hand and murder in his eyes.

“I said _no touching_ ,” says Jared, coolly, before thrusting his arm in a practiced gash to the carotid artery. He retracts his weapon like he’s done a dozen times, then slashes forward again, slitting the giant’s throat and letting him choke to death. When Ullmer finally hits the floor, the _thud_ pounds in Jared’s ears like a sledge-hammer.

_There goes my gold star._

There’s blood everywhere, on the walls, on the floor, spattered on Jared’s lips. 

When he’s ready, he turns back to Jensen, huddled and shaking on the bed. Kneels down and hugs him close, cradling him like a precious apparition. “No one will ever hurt you again. I won’t let them.”

Jensen hugs him back, collapsing into blood-soaked clothes and breathing deep sighs of relief.

They stay that way for so long that, by morning, they’re stuck together.

~~~

Jared’s bypassed the electric chair and headed straight for ICT. One of the new nurses, the idiot one, has to actually _ask_ what it means.

“Insulin coma therapy, dummy,” says Jared in a bored voice. “They’re gonna make me dead for awhile.” He rolls his eyes when the doctor shoots him a look.

He’s strapped and bound to an operating table when one of the nice nurses comes over, a blank look in her eyes. She’s turned on him, Jared can tell.

“Any last requests?” she says, putting a hand on his arm like she still cares. Like her eyes don’t scream ‘ _MONSTER, MONSTER_.’

“I want to look out the window while you do it,” says Jared, nodding towards the south wall.

The nurse looks to the doctor and he nods curtly. It takes a minute, but they manage to roll the table over to the window and bring their fancy tray of syringes with them.

“Alright, Jared, are you ready?”

He looks out the window and onto the grounds. In the distance, right next to the greenhouse, he can see Jensen, standing with a ragtag bouquet of flowers in his hands. Jared’s eyes water, wondering which four varieties Jensen has picked out just for him — if they’re violets or hyacinths or lilies-of-the-valley. 

He’ll have to remember to ask when he wakes up.

“Yes,” he says, not taking his eyes off his beloved. “Goodnight, Jensen. Goodnight, petalboy.”

The next thing he feels are needles in his skin and salivation of the blood. He’s falling drowsy, sweating and spasming gently on the table until everything fades to black and he’s deep asleep, dreaming of baby’s-breath and forget-me-nots.

~~~

They take Jared out back and bury him, dumping clods of ground over his sugar-drained corpus. He feels his heart race when the dirt plugs up his breathing holes, but there’s not much he can do about it. It gets dark quickly — darker than it’s ever been. He thinks he hears the nurses having a cigarette about six feet upwards.

“He was doing so well,” says a muffled voice. “I wonder what made him snap?”

“He was stark raving from the get-go. It was only a matter of time.”

_Bitch._

“I think he was lonely,” says the first voice. She’s nice, at least. “I never saw him with any friends.”

The second one scoffs. “Can you blame them?”

They toss their cigarettes on his grave and walk away, leaving him cold and forgotten in the earth. 

Some time passes and Jared starts to feel sorrow. It’s too quiet, save for the wriggling worms, and he’s got nothing much to do. The melancholia creeps up on him, slow and steady, like poison. He begins to feel like he’s empty. Abandoned. Alone.

Just then, Jared feels a rustling in the soil. Little fingers press through the deep dark and brush at his arm. Jared’s body smiles. Because he _knows_ those fingers. He’s felt them touch his bones.

_That tickles._

He feels a smile back, somehow. Then a soft hand grasps his own, underground. Holds him tight and won’t ever let go.

He can smell sweet, sweet roses.

Jared falls asleep at last — love in his heart and flower petals in his hair.

**Author's Note:**

> find more of my wolfish tales on [tumblr](http://weefaol.tumblr.com/) <3


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